


24 Hours

by ScrewzLooze



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Best Friend Hyunjin, Dancer Minho, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Rapper Jisung, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrewzLooze/pseuds/ScrewzLooze
Summary: Jisung longs after his closest friend who does not reciprocate his feelings. Years go by without his crush on Minho waning, and after his attempt to move on from this hopeless affair fails, he throws one of his rings into a wishing well as a joke, asking for Minho to love him back. Much to Jisung's surprise, his wish may have been granted for a short while.





	1. Section One

**Author's Note:**

> I have not written anything on here for over a year, but guess who has been a Stay for several months. :D Minsung has such an intriguing dynamic, I really wanted to write something about them, just for its own sake, and to get back into the groove of creative writing. My brain feels rusty after all these uncreative months. Because it is October, which has been reduced to a whole month of Halloween, I wrote a story with some magic in it to fit the holiday spirit.  
> I split this story into two equal chapters to make reading more convenient. It's already finished; I will post the next chapter soon.
> 
> My usual disclaimer: I apologize in advance if there is any inconsistency or error that proofreading didn’t touch upon, considering that English is not my native language. All rights go to all the people for all the things I don't own including, but not limited to, the characters.

Jisung met Minho when he was seventeen.

He was never one to say no to a party, good or bad, so when Changbin invited him to a heavy metal concert, he agreed without thinking twice about it. Jisung was not _necessarily_ fond of heavy metal; he was more of a hip-hop and pop enthusiast - Changbin, on the other hand, was very much enthusiastic about the whole thing, and got them tickets straight to the pit, right in the middle of the crowd where it got the craziest.

Thinking of that day, he could clearly recall that he was holding a yellow party stick in his right hand, and a see-through plastic cup filled with beer to the brim in the other.

Most of the beer went down his throat, but more than enough spilled out when he accidentally bumped into someone as he was jumping around, bobbing his head to the incessant chorus.

He turned around to apologize to the stranger, who was trying to do the same thing, at which point the band instructed the crowd to form a "death circle." Jisung had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and he still wasn’t sure to this day, but the crowd immediately began to push each other around mindlessly, causing Jisung to collide with the stranger accompanied by a mutual pained wince.

When the people behind him began to drag Jisung, he somehow thought that it would be a brilliant idea to grab onto the stranger, too, and drag him along. For an entire minute, Jisung kept running around with the crowd like loose chickens, chanting in some kind of Nordic language ( _unlike_ chickens).

By then, his shirt was soaked in sweat and beer, including the stranger, even though he still hadn't had the chance to utter anything to him, let alone see his face. At the same time, he was already holding onto his waist with that coming of age fervor, their bodies pressed against one another chest-to-chest, feeling like they had known each other for years. Being tipsy from the beer that Jisung drank on an empty stomach also helped make the experience less dismaying as it otherwise _should_ had been for someone fully cognizant of his surroundings.

Jisung could still remember burying his nose in the stranger’s top as he laid his forehead against his shoulder, trying to protect himself from the sea of elbows and punches being thrown around. And he could still remember the stranger doing the same, except that Jisung had his sleeves rolled up, so he also had to cope with a pair of warm lips pressing against the skin above his shoulder blades. He could feel the vibration of the other boy's laughter cover him in goosebumps whenever the crowd sped up. Jisung absorbed every touch and every breath, vivid in his memories enough to recall them like they only occurred yesterday, even after almost four years.

But what he remembered the most, and what he thought about the most, was the moment the circle stopped, so Jisung finally had a chance to distance himself from the stranger, at which point their eyes met for the first time in their lives.

In that moment, Jisung's eyes met a pair of doe ones, blinking at him wide and _curious_ , before Jisung's gaze fell to plush, red lips curling into a smirk.

To say that Jisung was lovestruck would be an understatement.

And indeed, the longer he looked, the more he felt a stinging pain where his heart was supposed to be, had it not burst out of his chest at the sight. In the middle of a screaming crowd and booming speakers relentlessly pulsing, the world went unusually quiet all of a sudden.

Jisung's first words to Minho were, " _Sorry dude_ ," as he pointed toward Minho's beer-stained shirt, but since it was decorated with a bunch of holes that Jisung assumed Minho did to personalize it, most of that beer was really on Minho's skin rather than the clothing.

Minho shook his head with a chuckle, engulfing Jisung in a chaste hug to let him know that he didn't mind the spilled drink.

That was cool with Jisung.

What wasn't cool was when Minho leaned closer and tried to whisper his name into Jisung's ear, which was a success in terms of making Jisung's knees feel like jelly, but less successful in actually communicating, since it was too loud to hear anything.

"I can't hear you!" Jisung yelled over the music, pulling Minho away from himself with the ulterior motive of looking into those stunning, doe eyes once again, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

He thought the other boy would give up on the whole conversation with the wave of his hand and get swallowed into the crowd without a trace, but he ended up grabbing Jisung by the wrist instead, leading them out of the pit.

Jisung's entire body felt too soft and wobbly for his liking as he mutely let Minho pull him through the crowd like they were attached to one another by a string, perhaps that of fate. He could have led Jisung into an alley filled with robbers and roaming alligators, and Jisung would have still gladly followed him.

Rather, much to Jisung’s dumb luck, Minho had both of them sit down on a creaking, aged bench near the bar, where the streetlights crept through the open entryway, illuminating the gold and green glitter scattered over his cheeks, and he introduced himself to Jisung for the second time that night.

To this day, Jisung had no idea why Minho wanted to get to know him, considering that he must have looked like a mess, and not a hot one at that. On the contrary, Minho looked _beautiful_ , with his tousled, dirty blonde hair adorned with an array of pansies, and long, thin lashes sweeping over his cheeks whenever he blinked at Jisung.

Whatever was in the air that night Minho inhaled, he stuck to Jisung’s side like he was glued there for the days that followed, until the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years.

Meanwhile, after all this time later, Jisung thought the memories would fade, their sudden friendship would end as fast as it came, and that he would never go to another metal concert again. Over time, he turned out to be wrong about all of those things.

Minho stayed in his life, yet again for reasons Jisung couldn't understand. Minho was a beautiful mystery, some kind of unprecedented blessing, a treasure unexpectedly found buried in the sands of time where Jisung had no place being, a friend he didn't know he needed until he had him - although all that also had its downsides.  


Especially on days like today was, when Minho was stretched out on Jisung's couch, his head resting on Jisung's lap as they were watching Minho's favorite drama. The entire place smelled like instant noodles and _flowers_ , since as it turned out, Minho liked flowery scents, which brought Jisung back to when he was seventeen more times than he was comfortable with.

Jisung didn’t dare to move an inch, even though the position was getting unbearable after an hour. But whenever Minho was near him, he felt frozen in place, a burst of energy bundled up and shooting through his veins like a canon, all invisible to the naked eye with his body staying as timid as a tinman’s.

"Don't stop..." Minho mumbled, half-asleep, as Jisung stopped running his fingers through his newly black hair. Jisung also remembered the day Minho dyed his hair black, in _Jisung’s_ bathroom, staining the ivory walls cadet gray. Coming to think of it, black was fitting to the black sheep Minho was among their circle of friends.

"But my hand hurts." Jisung whined, trying to wring the cramp out of said hand.

"Then use your other one." Minho instructed, grinning when he felt Jisung's fingers brush though his hair once again without any complaints. He sighed contently into the touch, reaching after Jisung's other arm to wrap it around his waist.

"And what else can I do for you, your Highness?" Jisung scoffed, routinely hiding the piercing sensation in his chest behind his jeering tone so as to not give himself away.

"Hmm...Just shut up." Minho replied with a yawn, placing his hands over Jisung's arm that was curled around his waist to make sure Jisung wouldn't pull it away, as if he ever would, despite his loud-mouthing.

He hated these days the most, when Minho would drop by, uninvited, as if he lived at Jisung's place, and had Jisung all riled-up from his charms, most of which Minho seemed to be oblivious of. He came by frequently enough that Jisung just dropped a pair of keys into Minho’s hand one day about a year ago without any explanations. Still, Jisung was jealous how comfortable Minho could be around him, while he felt too excited, too nervous, too _everything_.

Some days, he wished they had never met. Then, he could focus on his music more, kick his feet up on the table, and change the channel to something less melodramatic. But instead, all he could write were love songs, his notebooks filled of titles written about Minho, while his back and legs were going numb, and he was stuck watching the same series for the second time in a row, which he never cared for in the first place, but it was Minho’s guilty pleasure, so there couldn’t be any arguments about that.

More often though, he fearfully prayed into the night that Minho will never leave him. Jisung just didn’t know how he could live without this boy in his lap, all cozy and curled-up against Jisung, a stubborn grin faintly pulling at his lips from getting what he wanted, as he always did. Even the coffee in his mug before he added the milk reminded him of them.

However, Minho could get _very_ affectionate and intimate with other guys; even cunning and overly witty at times, and always _too_ free and independent for a relationship. Minho was too beautiful, and like seasons, it was in his nature to come and go. Deep in his heart, where Jisung imprisoned his secrets behind spiked fences and brick walls, he knew he could never expect Minho to settle for him, or to give him a chance, because Jisung was just a placeholder for the person who will actually have a shot. Yet again, it would be a lie to say he never dreamed of a hulking miracle like that.

A miracle, like a day when Jisung would lean really close to Minho's face as he often did when they were messing around, pretending to kiss him, and instead of Minho playfully slapping him on the face and throwing a pillow at him in a tantrum, Minho would erase the miles and miles of distance between them with the tilt of his head. Dreams, in which holding hands didn't end in seconds or when they stepped out of the apartment; when Jisung would come home to Minho sleeping in his T-shirts like he saw people do in romcoms; or when he would catch Minho staring at him the way Jisung stares at him when Minho is not looking.

Then, he wouldn't be so bitter about Minho making himself home at his place, or being so touchy with him, because then, Jisung would not feel like a fool for being hopelessly, unrequitedly, in love. Right now though, he could cry from frustration as his hands ran through Minho's straight, silky hair for the hundredth time, having to pretend that it didn’t mean anything.

Jisung exhaled slowly, staggeringly slow, his fingers still combing through Minho's locks even after he could tell the other had long fallen asleep by the even rising and falling of his chest. He could still remember when Minho had first laid his head on his lap, and looked up at Jisung with those eternally innocent, doe eyes, vast enough to hold a universe within each. Maybe in one of those coffee-brown universes, Jisung never met Minho, and in another, they were meant to be. He was giggling and had a faint blush on his cheeks that day from running up the stairs to Jisung's apartment, lips dry from the ruthless November wind, chapped, and irresistible.

Jisung remembered every trivial thing that was about Minho. All Jisung did was remember, his mind molding into a library of the past.

 

***

 

There are several things that Jisung loved about Minho. Among them was the other's passion for dance. Perhaps Jisung loved that the most. He could only compare it to his own devotion to music.

It was a Tuesday, and on Tuesdays and Fridays, Minho spent the entire afternoon at the dance studio near their university. Like always, Jisung "happened to drop by" while he was on his way to get dinner, and always "happened to buy" some extra to share with Minho, because if not for him, Minho would have gone without eating all day.

Minho was so focused on getting the moves right to fit the rhythm in his head, so devoured by criticizing his silhouette in the mirror, that even the loud growling of his stomach didn’t snap him out of his concentration.

It was during moments like this that Jisung dropped down onto the floor with his back against the mirrors, lazily resting his elbows on his knees, just watching Minho from his dimly lit corner.

He watched Minho's loose black t-shirt stick to his body as he swayed his hips to the left, lifting up multiple times when he stood on his tiptoes for a swift spin, just enough to allow Jisung’s hungry eyes an “accidental” peek at his contoured abs. His sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor with each twirl, the only sound beside Minho’s subdued panting. His black sweatpants, as baggy as they were, still allowed the bulging muscles on his thighs to make an appearance as he spread them to smooth his hand over the muscle, synchronizing to the beat of the music only he could hear. Minho jumped up and down enough times to make Jisung dizzy just watching it, but their intensity didn’t fade, and if anything, the longer and harder Minho danced, the more energy he seemed to have. Jisung couldn’t relate.

But eventually, just when Minho was on the floor, doing hip thrusts into the air, did he seem to notice Jisung, much to Jisung's discomfort at the timing.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minho dared to _smirk_ at him, before biting on his bottom lip and decreasing the velocity of his thrusts, his body moving in waves like gentle, sluggish currents.

Jisung wanted to _disappear_ and hide his face that had since reddened like a ripe tomato, ready for picking, but he would hate to let Minho know that the boy had Jisung wrapped around his pinky finger. So instead of digging a hole through the ground like a mole and escape there for the rest of time, Jisung put the food to the side which he had been holding onto for dear life since he arrived, and rushed to wrestle Minho back onto the floor, sitting on top of him to keep him there.

Minho fell back so easily, Jisung wondered if his mind had only now registered how exhausted he had been, or if he wanted Jisung to win. It usually took a few rounds before he could hold Minho against the hardwood floor, but today, he was grateful that Minho just sighed in defeat.

Minho had his closed eyes, taking several quick breaths as if he had just sprinted a mile. And as always, Jisung filled the silence and airy breaths with smiles and laughter, however false it ringed to his own ears.

He held onto Minho's torso for balance, memorizing how warm and sweaty he felt under his palms, the motion of his rib cages pushing back against Jisung’s hands with each breath. All the while, Jisung was trying to engrave the image of his flushed face and bitten lips, his glowy skin reflecting the lights of the studio shining down on them. But more importantly, Jisung desperately wanted to remember _that look_ Minho was giving him when he finally opened his eyes again - that _challenge_ and _coyness_ that radiated from the other's gaze when he tittered at Jisung, sitting up enough to almost have their noses touching.

"Did you bring food?" Minho inquired.

It had to be the first thing he would want to know, and Jisung couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that.

"Of course I did. I had some left, you know I always do." Jisung assured, intertwining his fingers with Minho's to help him get up.

He wished Minho wouldn't let go so soon, but Jisung guessed there wasn't really any more time left to hold hands when they both sat down again, with Jisung beginning to unwrap the carefully packaged containers.

Minho looked at the food like it was the best thing he had ever seen, with his hands clasped together in anticipation, and lips parted eagerly. He often slapped things when he was excited, and today was no exception as he clawed at the floor and Jisung’s legs. It took all of Jisung's strength not to throw the soup to the side and just adoringly grab Minho's face for a kiss.

Somehow, _like every day_ , he managed not to, and spent the next few minutes watching Minho gulp down the soup until his cheeks got messy.

"You eat like a pig." Jisung noted, trying to make sure he didn’t sound as hopelessly in love as he actually was, since that would have been more pathetic than Minho’s graceless eating habits.

"Yeah, I haven't eaten anything since 7AM." Minho bumbled between slurps. "Thank you for bringing me food, by the way. I don't know what I would do without you, as annoying as you are."

"If you want to talk about something annoying, why don't we discuss all the cat hair you leave on my couch? I don't have cats, but guess who cleans it up? Not you!"

Minho's face was hidden behind the bowl as he raised it to his mouth to pour any leftover soup into it, so Jisung couldn’t tell how Minho reacted, but he suspected that the other didn’t sympathize with Jisung's struggle one bit.

Minho finished the dinner with a loud burp, and then had the decency to look at Jisung with a self-satisfied, cheshire-cat grin on his face. Yet Jisung couldn’t be mad, because even now, Minho had no trouble getting under his skin within seconds, spinning Jisung into his web of interminable charms.

"You still love me though, right?" Minho asked, tossing the bowl to the side. As he turned with the movement, Jisung's eyes fell to the other's neck, observing the protruding bones and sun-kissed skin. His eyes began to follow a drop of sweat making its way from Minho's temple down to his collarbones, disappearing under his shirt, where Jisung couldn’t follow its tracks anymore.

"Do I have a choice?" Jisung wondered, and Minho glared at him in response. Jisung smiled at the icy glare, but only he knew how painstakingly.

 _To love Minho or to not?_ The latter never seemed like an option. Jisung wished he could choose who to love, because then, he would pick wiser, and avoid all the meaningless nights he toils through, daydreaming about his friend.

On the other hand, even if he tried, Jisung felt like he could not pick anybody else but Minho. Who else could make such adorable bundles like Minho did now, as he was wrapping the empty bowl and utensils together into a piece of checkered cloth? Who else could look so beautiful without a trace of makeup, after hours of tireless dancing, drenched in sweat? Who else would reach after Jisung's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes to stay, so they could go home together?

"Don't you dare looking at me like that." Jisung warned, trying to swat the other's hand away.

Minho pouted at that, effectively ending the argument _and Jisung_. Minho always got what Minho wanted, however extra he needed to be.

"I'm not in the mood to go home tonight. I want to sleep at your place. It's much closer."

"I have a class at eight in the morning, I can’t stick around until eleven o’clock like you do." Jisung whined.

"I won't stay until late today, just don't leave."

"What does it matter whether I stay or not? I’m not doing any work."

"I just like it when you are here. It motivates me to do better." Minho admitted, looking at Jisung like a lost kitten.

Jisung let out a pained groan - the sound of defeat that Minho knew all too well.

"When will you let me sleep?" Jisung cried, sinking down onto the floor, looking like a puddle of mud.

"Sleep is for the weak." Minho commented before springing up toward the stereo to put on some music. "Dance with me. You won't even notice time going by," He suggested while a GOT7 song began to play from the large speakers secured to the corners of the room.

It was fast-paced and upbeat, and Minho had no trouble remembering the entire choreography. Jisung, in comparison, went by faint recollections and trying to copy Minho, who moved with unrivaled ease and elegance. When Minho danced, he didn’t seem to be aware of anything else around him, which inspired notable awe in Jisung.

"Tap louder with those feet!" He instructed Jisung, who tried to follow the other's direction as diligently as he could, although he felt foolish next to Minho, whose every muscle was in harmonious tune with the beats.

"Man, I'm trying..." Jisung mumbled with his brows furrowed together.

"Then try harder."

"" _Then try harder.”_ " Jisung repeated in a mocking tone under his breath, to which Minho poked his tongue out at him. "Go and try composing your own music, and writing your own lyrics, and also rapping it. How about that?"

"How about you spend less time complaining and more time focusing?"

Jisung playfully elbowed Minho on the side at the remark, almost making him trip over.

"I'm not the one trying to be a backup dancer for BTS."

"When I'll be rich and famous, you will be sorry, Jisung." Minho orated as a joke while wiping at his face, making him miss Jisung’s fond smile at his words.

"When you'll become rich, which you better be, you will finally be able to pay back to me what you owe, starting with your dinner and the laundry costs of washing the cat fur out of everything."

"Admit that you love Soon-ie and Doong-ie as much as I do!"

The next song came too soon for Jisung, but Minho had no trouble transitioning.

"You're already giving up?" Minho asked as he saw Jisung shuffle back toward the back of the room and throw himself down, sagging onto the floor exhaustedly.

"I'm just taking a break." Jisung yelled over the music which had since transmuted to a much slower song.

Minho's body equally transitioned to the laid-back rhythm seamlessly, and Jisung gulped, knowing well that whenever he saw Minho slow down, things were about to get dangerous for him, and he won't survive without a boner.

Jisung cursed under his breath when Minho proceeded, in line with the rhythm, to lift his arms up high into the air, pulling his long-sleeved shirt over his head, revealing a dark blue tank-top under it. Jisung could see all the muscles on Minho's broad shoulders and back flex with the movement, but the worst part was when Minho looked at him from over his shoulders with a pearly smile right before throwing the aforementioned item into Jisung's face with a chuckle.

Jisung contemplated throwing it back at him when Minho would least expect it, but decided it was a great cover up for his rising bulge, especially as Minho took his time, dragging out Jisung’s patience skilfully, sliding one of his hands down his long neck and defined chest, judging at his own movements from half-lidded eyes, unaware of the tantalizing and tormenting journey Jisung was gauching through because of it.

Minho lived to dance and be seen, thriving off the applause and gasping he beckoned out of people, and Jisung was a prime victim of that addiction every day of his life. Especially now, wishing that there was a window nearby he could make an emergency exit through before he would snap like a popsicle stick under the weight of his beset imagination. But there was nowhere to hide, except the bathroom at the other end of the room.

Jisung really eyed that exit long enough to almost make a run for it, but then he heard Minho moan strategically into the music, and Jisung knew it was one minute too late for him to get up without getting busted.

 

The next hour didn't end soon enough. Minho kept messing around, trying to pull Jisung up from where he was sitting, and Jisung digging his nails into the floor, fighting for dear life. By the time they got to Jisung's place, it was already 9 o'clock, and all Jisung wanted to do was fall face-first onto his bed, trying to forget about today.

Unfortunately, when he tried to that, Minho jumped on top of him, mumbling against the nape of his neck,

"I'm not sleeping on the couch."

Jisung felt familiar goosebumps rise under his skin at the damp warmth of Minho's breath and lips, so he shrugged the other off before getting up.

"Where are you going?" Minho asked with a confused gaze as Jisung proceeded to grab one of the pillows.

"To the couch, your Highness."

"Oh, you are not going anywhere." Minho replied, pulling on his friend hard enough to have Jisung land on top of him, with both of their legs dangling off the bed.

Jisung let out a defeated sigh, and Minho giggled against his hair, wrapping his arms around him.

"There, there. I'll take a shower first, I smell like a raccoon."

Jisung thought that he smelled more like Jisung’s wet dreams, but he caught himself just in time before confessing that.

Minho's skin had since cooled off on the way home, and it was the perfect contrast against Jisung's heated body. He hoped they could lay like this for longer, but eventually, by some divine intervention, both of them got up before falling asleep in that awkward position.

It took way too much effort for Jisung to wobble toward one of his drawers filled with half-heartedly folded blouses and hoodies to pick something out for Minho that he could wear to bed. Since Minho had spent so much time at his place that he had a bunch of Minho’s clothes mixed among his, he could have easily given Minho one of the boy’s own. However, Jisung liked the idea of seeing Minho in _his_ shirts, so he sneakily tossed a well-loved, extremely loose tee and a random pair of briefs toward Minho, hoping that the other won’t notice or object to it.

Fortunately, Minho just grabbed the shirt and the underwear that landed on his chest, heading straight to the bathroom without another word, completely unaware of Jisung’s triumphant little smile at the victory.

One of the many unusual things about Minho was his unpredictability. Will he shower for an hour or will it only last five minutes? Not even Minho knew. Nevertheless, Jisung did his best to get comfortable in the meantime, sitting on the edge of his bed hunched over, texting on his phone and watching an excessive amount of steam leak through the gaps between the door and the frame around it.

However, as it turned out, Minho was merciful today by finishing early and leaving some warm water for Jisung as well.

What wasn’t merciful was when he stepped out of the bathroom with the loud bang of the door plowing against the wall, and with his fingers lazily combing through his messy, damp hair. The shirt Jisung gave him stopped a little above his knees, revealing several light bruises covering his shins and knees from dance practice, but also some of his smooth, defined thighs.

Jisung wished he could put that imagine into a song, so that whoever would listen to it on the radio would see this moment before their eyes, and have their hearts bleed like Jisung’s did then. But much to Jisung's misfortune, some of the most beautiful moments in life were the hardest to put into words, and writing about Minho was always a simultaneous battle between despair and rewarding ecstasy.

Minho got under the covers like it was no one's business, as if he slept there every night. Jisung _wished_ that that was the case, but in reality, when Minho stayed over at their place, he always slept on the couch. Jisung was not sure what had changed, although he welcomed it too much to question it.  


When it was Jisung’s turn to shower, he took it as cold as he could to cool himself down, trying to make sure he wouldn't get another hard-on with Minho in his bed.

He imagined so many times what it would be like to kiss Minho goodnight, and to wrap his arms around the other's waist before falling asleep, that it made his closeness tonight that much worse, since Jisung finally had Minho sleeping beside him, but only as a friend, and never more.

He rested his forehead against the tiles, trying to will away the escalating thoughts of what it would be like if Minho was there in the shower with him.

He would probably pin Minho against the sliding glass door and tease every bit of attitude out of him, until he was a helpless, compliant mess.

But Jisung knew that as per now, the only helpless, compliant mess was him, immediately sobering him up.

 

"Jisung..." Minho whispered shyly once Jisung had turned off the lights and got under the covers as well.

"Yeah?" Jisung said with his back turned toward Minho.

"Thank you for...you know, letting me sleep at your place and all that."

"Yeah, bro. No problem."

A few seconds passed by in silence, before Minho spoke again.

"Does the cat hair really bother you? Because I can -"

"No, Minho." Jisung laughed, turning around to look at his friend. "I was just messing with you. Stop worrying, _baby._ " He winked.

Minho smiled back at him in relief, shoving the other away toward the edge of the bed.

"Oh, did I make you blush, baby?"

"Maybe I should have picked the couch." Minho groaned, being the one to turn away this time. "And don't you dare spoon me!"

"I would rather lick the couch clean." Jisung bluffed, staring at the distance between their bodies with a hollow smile. For a while before Minho turned away, their pinky fingers were just a milimeter away from intertwining, the thought of it haunting Jisung all night.

 

***

 

Not surprisingly, he was ten minutes late to his class the next morning because he stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a full eight, _pathetic_ , minutes, admiring Minho's peacefully sleeping figure basking in the sunlight that streamed through the blinds. One side of the pajama shirt had slipped down his shoulder during the night, exposing the unmarked skin covered in a sparse constellation of birthmarks, just begging Jisung to kiss each spot with the tenderest of love.

Jisung wanted to say that he could stand there awestruck and lovesick until spiders would begin to weave webs around his skeleton. He wanted to say that he could get used to falling down the bed in a desperate rush to the bathroom, attempting to get rid of an unusually hard morning wood with a freezing shower before Minho woke up. That somehow he could find Minho's face buried in his chest, their legs entangled, and listen to Minho’s mellow breathing accompanied by the merry chirping of the birds, without wanting to scream into the silence.

Jisung wanted to say that he could live with this pain forever, the pain of knowing and feeling what only burdened _his_ conscious, of walking a thin line between friendship and misery; that he was growing content with his dreams remaining unfulfilled and impossible.

Jisung really wanted to think he could do all of this, every day, and still manage to be happy. But Jisung knew it was silly to think that he won't talk in his sleep one night and accidentally tell Minho how he feels about him, or worse, start grunting Minho's name during a heated dream.

The realization had dawned on Jisung that this couldn’t continue forever the way he used to think it could. It hurt more with each passing day. Tomorrow was never anything new or different.

A voice once nebulous in his conscious began to crystallize over the next few days, hitting Jisung like the sky had fallen down on him with the only inevitable conclusion remaining -

Perhaps he should _move on_.

He couldn’t come up with any more excuses or objections to that voice like he used to, only the question, “ _but_ _how?”_

 

So two days later on a Friday, when Minho was practicing at the studio again, he decided for the first time in years that he won't drop by.

When Minho knocked on his door unusually early at 8 o'clock and asked him about it, Jisung shrugged his shoulders and said that he had too much schoolwork to do. Minho didn't even have to knock, since Jisung had given him a key to the apartment over a year ago, but Minho never seemed to use it. He always patiently waited for Jisung to let him in, which made things now all the more awkward.

"Will you come next Tuesday?" Minho asked, opening a bag of chips as he collapsed exhaustedly onto the couch.

Jisung took some chips into his palms to eat, mindlessly staring at the busy TV screen with Minho’s drama.

"I don't know."

A true lie - since he knew that he won’t, he just didn’t know how he will bolster himself to follow his own advice.

Especially not when one of the guys at the studio took notice of Jisung not coming the next Tuesday, so he brought food for Minho instead.

"It was so nice of him...He said he's been meaning to talk to me for a while but didn't want to bother us. I hope he will bring me food on Friday, too." Minho said while sneaking under the covers of Jisung's bed later that day.

"You are just like your cats. All you want people for is food." Jisung teased, although it came out harsher than he meant it. Minho took notice of the change of tone, and stared at Jisung wide-eyed, but didn't say anything until he reached one of his arms out to pull Jisung closer.

"Why are you sleeping so near the edge? You’re going to fall down." He explained, letting go of Jisung then, clueless about the number of times Jisung had already fallen off the bed during his morning ritual.

"I won't. Besides, I like to live dangerously." Jisung joked just to lighten up the mood that was growing noticeable tense and uncomfortable for both of them.

Minho smiled at the remark and closed his eyes, snuggling just the smallest bit closer to Jisung.

Jisung looked down at their hands almost on top of each others’, and those long, thin lashes brushing Minho's cheeks, visible and beautiful even in the darkest of nights. He pressed his own eyes shut to suppress the tears, cursing at himself for acting like an idiot over the smallest things. But the smallest things seemed to hurt the most and for the longest.

When he was sure by Minho's steady breathing that the other had fallen asleep, he carefully peeled the covers off himself to climb out of the bed and sneak into his other room that he only used for music and writing. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep from wanting to admire Minho's face all night, so he decided to use all that pent up guilt, sadness, and frustration to jot down some lyrics rather than being a creep.

Once seated in his chair with his coffee-stained notebook in front of him, he thought about how as soon as he was trying to distance himself, Minho had countless new guys replacing Jisung, and he was sure it wouldn't take long until Minho stopped coming to his place altogether. Jisung didn’t accompany Minho for two practices and the boy already had another courtier eager to step into Jisung’s place. Maybe Minho would just send him a text one day, letting him know that he found a new best friend, since really all it would take apparently was to snap his fingers. Maybe not even a text, just that extra pair of keys quietly left on the dining table for somebody else that will never be Minho again.

All the while, Minho would be spending the afternoons and nights at a _boyfriend's or girlfriend's_ house. Having someone else getting to hold Minho's hands with the love and confidence Jisung was never granted. Somebody else getting to kiss Minho all over and tickle him until he is begging for mercy with his borderline obnoxious giggles and laughter. A stranger, like Jisung once was all those years ago at the concert, getting to wrap their arms around Minho's hips and pull him in for a _kiss._

Jisung was sure Minho's lips would be the softest and warmest, and every sound he would make with someone kissing him all over would be needy and muffled, and he would love to wrap his thighs around his partner's body to make them feel how strong and crushing they could be.

Somebody will get to do all that, _and more_ , and Jisung was now crunching up the fifth piece of paper that had gotten too soaked with tears to write on.

It takes courage to move on from an old love, and Jisung always thought of himself as a bit of a coward. At least to his “advantage,” it wasn’t like he had a choice whether to move on or not.

 

After hours of contemplation and writing, Jisung woke up to his back burning from a cramp, and the sunlight leaking through his open window beginning to burn his nose where it touched it. He salivated all over the desk, and his face was crusty from yesterday’s salty tears.

This went on for a few more nights, until Jisung was sure he had no more tears left, wherever tears came from, yet somehow, wallowing around in his heartache felt even worse without any relief that his tears temporarily provided.

But the hardest night of all was yet to come, after the day Minho tried to lay his head on Jisung's lap again, but Jisung was stubbornly refusing to lift up the book he was holding.

Minho kept eyeing Jisung's lap, pouting at the other.

"But that's my place..." He whined into Jisung's ear. "Why can't I? You can read the book while I'm sleeping there, it doesn't bother me."

"Well, your Highness, I'm glad it doesn't bother _you_ , but it does bother _me_ ." Jisung replied without looking up from his book, because he knew he would fall apart in a matter of seconds if he glanced at Minho's anguished expression. "Just use one of the pillows, man. It's not a big deal."

It _was_ a big deal. It signified a changing of times, beginning to unveil the increasingly noticeable tension that all of their common friends were commenting on lately.

Minho retreated after that, slumping down onto the other end of the couch like an angry child. And of course, Minho was unwilling to leave the incident alone even after hours later.

"Are you mad at me?" He gnawed at Jisung far into the night as they were lying on the bed, his voice the smallest and most uncertain Jisung had ever heard it.

Jisung wanted the monsters under his bed to grab him by the ankles and pull him down, just to be anywhere but here, burning under Minho's questioning and worried gaze, and haunted by his hurt voice.

"No, why would I be?" He said with his own voice cracking, trying to distract from it with a displaced cough.

"It's just that..." Minho began in a whisper, "You've not been coming to my dance practices and we've not been hanging out like we used to, you know. I feel like you are pushing me away...Did I do something wrong?"

"N-no, Minho, of course you didn't!"

"I'm sorry if I did."

"I just told you that you didn't do anything wrong!" Jisung exclaimed, uncomfortably loud against the backdrop of the quiet October night, and especially in comparison to Minho's muttering.

"But then why are you acting so weird? Do you not want to be my friend anymore?"

"Geez, Minho. I never said that! Never!" Jisung snarled defensively, sitting up on the bed to take a better look at Minho. He was getting agitated, because Minho was both right and wrong at the same time, and Jisung was feeling guilty for trying to do what he thought was the best for both of them, yet he ended up hurting Minho instead. And now, Minho was so confused, so small and lost, all the while having Jisung cornered without options. Minho's simple and innocent questions felt intimidating and accusing, when he had all the right reasons in the world to ask them. What was Jisung supposed to say? Can people stay friends when one of them wants something more? _Could Minho just stop being Minho?_

"Then why are you avoiding me?!" Minho questioned, getting into Jisung's face.

"I just have my own things to do sometimes, you know, the world doesn't revolve around you. I'm sure it's hard not to have someone always conveniently available to do whatever you want, but every now and then, maybe you could just let me off the leash."

Minho looked baffled at that, which made Jisung wonder if he had crossed a line.

"I..." Minho began, his fingers curled into tight fists..."Do you feel like I'm just using you? Because I'm not. And by the way, I know you've been leaving me in the middle of the night. I always find the bed empty by 2AM. Where do you even go? If you didn't want me to sleep next to you, you could have simply told me..."

"It's not that, Minho. Listen -"

"I can always just go to my own place then. Do you want me to give back the keys to your place?"

Jisung wanted to scream _yes_ , simply out of stubbornness and pride, for the sake of doubling down and proving a point he didn't even know he had.

But instead, he took a deep breath and got up from the bed to pull a small bag out of his closet.

"So what now? Are you going to pack my things and throw me out?" Minho scoffed with his hands up.

"No." Jisung replied calmly. "I'm packing my own things. I'm going to visit Hyunjin."

"Hyunjin? Your new best friend, huh? Now? At this hour? Have you lost your mind?"

"He is at his mother's place on a break. It's just a few hours away with a bus. By the time I get there, it won't be a problem.” Jisung answered, not even paying attention to what he was packing, throwing anything he could find into the backpack.

Minho moved to the end of the bed to watch Jisung be out and about, his expression unreadable.

“When will you come back?” He eventually asked.

“In a day or two. I just need some fresh air. It’s not a big deal.” Jisung repeated, more so to himself than to Minho.

He changed into a pair of jeans and a red baseball cap in the bathroom, hoping that Minho would go back to sleep or mind his own business by the time he walked out. He didn’t want to think about what Minho must be feeling. But Minho was better at concealing his pain than Jisung ever was. Minho could hide behind a mask he wore during his performances, when his feet ached and his body was bruised, but had no trouble staying expressionless. He could fabricate a smile if someone ordered him to, and put on a show whenever necessary. In contrast, Jisung was a bleeding heart, used to connecting with people through being raw and candid. He couldn’t lie to himself for long, since music required him to acknowledge and confront his true emotions. When he rapped, then he cried and screamed, when he spoke, then he was loud and gesticulating, when he wrote, it was disorganized and expository. He liked to scratch at the surface of things until he found what animated them, unlike Minho, who bubbled to the surface. Minho was a living thrill in Jisung’s otherwise plain life, a blotch of color on a monochrome canvas, an odd number in an even sequence, the smudge of black on the pearly bathroom wall. Minho was alluring and dangerous, the light in the very darkness that he brought.

Jisung filled up the sink with cold water, as he had grown accustomed to since Minho had come into his life, and dunked his head into to, trying to numb the muscles on his face enough so that he wouldn’t show his emotions when he walked out the door.

It took everything in him not to glance at what Minho was doing, since by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, Minho was still sitting on the edge of the bed, most probably following Jisung’s every move. Minho had the widest and most curious eyes, like lenses of a camera capturing Jisung’s every flaw.

He didn’t look back until he reached the nearest terminal, buying a fare to Hyunjin’s place that was a four-hour bus ride away. His _“new best friend."_


	2. Section Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything else: Let me thank you so very much for the overwhelmingly kind feedback and comments I've received for part one. I've read each comment before posting this second part, and I was blown away by how lovely and sweet the Stay community is. (Even if you called me mean :D) You made me laugh really hard and made me feel so grateful and humbled. T.T  
> I loved knowing what stood out to you, and the ideas you had about why things happened the way they did. I think it's safe to say that my favorite part of posting on AO3 is actually hearing your thoughts, and seeing what you take away from the works. I was also very flattered by the complements, which one can only ever hope for, but never expect. With that said, I hope this chapter will meet your expectations. I will continue to try to improve until the next!

Around 5AM in the morning, he sent a long text message to Hyunjin, explaining most of what had happened. Hyunjin had long known about Minho, but didn’t know about Jisung’s, thus far failed, attempts to move on. Much to Jisung’s luck, Hyunjin was _that friend_ who actually picked up the phone even in the asscrack of the morning to make sure his friends were okay.

By the time Jisung arrived to Hyunjin’s place at 6:15, Hyunjin was pacing back and forth in his room, anxiously waiting for his arrival to talk things through.

Hyunjin’s parents had two homes, one where Hyunjin grew up in the city, and the other here that was passed onto them from their grandparents. When Hyunjin’s family wanted some quiet time or go camping, the serene streets and the nearby forest was perfect for a short weekend getaway. But even here, Hyunjin’s room was the coolest out of all of Jisung’s friends, and he immediately took advantage of the large purple pouf in the middle of the room once they both settled in.

The faux leather pouf began to slowly shrink under Jisung’s sudden weight, almost entirely swallowing him. He didn’t care much, perhaps even hoped, that he would end up somewhere else when his butt hit the floor. Perhaps a portal would open under his butt and suck him into a dimension where he passed up on that concert with Changbin four years ago.

After a while of running over what had happened in the previous hours, with Hyunjin pretending to be his therapist and carefully nodding along, Jisung fell silent with a weary sigh, angrily pulling at the hems of his shirt for stress relief.

Hyunjin considered his options cautisouly for a few minutes before jolting up as if a lightning bolt had struck him.

“I want to show you something.” He said without any further explanations, grabbing Jisung’s hand to lead them out of the house.

“Is it really that important right now?” Jisung moaned, grumpy about having to get up again, very much content with being sandwiched inside the pouf.

“It’s something fun. Maybe it could cheer you up.” His friend assured him, leading them to a remote townsquare with what seemed like a well at the center. The entire area was overgrown with weeds, dandelions and tall grass brushing against their shins, and thick trees with yellowing leaves obscuring much of the view until they were standing before it.

“I’m not thirsty, Hyunjin.” Jisung frowned. The last thing he wanted was to drink water from an old, dirty well.

“No, dude, people don’t drink from this around here.” Hyunjin explained while Jisung leaned over its edges to stare down into the void, observing the cracks and breaks decorating the stone tunnel. "It’s a nice little well, isn't it?" He asked as he rested his elbows beside Jisung’s.

"I guess. It's not like I've seen a ton before. It's alright."

"I've heard people say that it's a wishing well."

"A _what_?"

"If you throw something in it, like a coin, and make a wish, it will come true."

"Oh...that sounds stupid. Is that why you dragged me here? I thought you wanted to behead me or something. That could have done more to cheer me up. This area looks...sketchy."

"My mother said that a woman once made a wish to win on the lottery, and she won the next day."

Jisung snickered at the idea, shaking his head.

"Yeah, right. Don’t believe everything your parents tell you."

"It's not like you have anything to lose from trying. The people here say that if you ask for something that you truly need, the deities in the well will grant your wish for a day."

"One day?" Jisung asked, raising his index finger.

Hyunjin laughed, smacking Jisung on the shoulder.

"Yes, I _know_. But since when did magic ever make sense?"

"I don't believe in magic, Hyunjin." Jisung said jadedly, staring back at the bottom of the well, so unlike his usual, carefree self. He had no problem fooling around and acting like a clown most of the time, even now if he tried, he could probably come up with some ridiculous wishes, cheer Hyunjin up, and call it a day. But none of that felt right.

"I can tell you could use a wish. So what? I'll do it, too if that makes you feel better about it."

“Nah…” Jisung declined politely. “I’m not interested.”

“Not even trying it for Minho?” Hyunjin taunted, quirking his eyebrow at his friend.

Jisung could never say no to a challenge like that.

“ _Fine_ . Whatever. I’m already an idiot. So what are _you_ going to wish for?"

"You are not supposed to tell what you wish for."

"Ah, I see. So now there are other rules to it, too? Perhaps there's a specific amount I should sacrifice to those deities?" Jisung fomented.

"No, that's just a general thing about wishes."

"Right..." Jisung nodded, pretending to understand.

 

But as much as Jisung _loathed_ to admit, Hyunjin was right about the rest of it. As ridiculous as it sounded, it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose. Minho will never love him otherwise, and he already pushed them to the brink of their friendship. Everything was as fragile as it could ever get.

However, he didn’t want Minho to love him back because of a wish he made. He wanted Minho to love him, just for its own sake. He didn't want to force it.

At the same time, the devil sitting on his other shoulder suggested, having just _one day_ couldn't hurt, could it? He wouldn't do anything with Minho that Minho wouldn't want if he wasn't under some kind of magical spell.

Jisung just wanted to hold Minho's hand, knowing that the other understood it wasn’t out of friendly affection. That Minho squeezed his hand back not out of mutual friendship, but because Minho _loved_ him, too, and that his heart did a somersault when he saw Jisung the way Jisung’s heart did when he saw him.

“If it actually works, then why isn’t there a crowd here, wishing for all sorts of stuff?”

“This is a village with only about a 1,000 or so people. Everyone knows each other. Most people just wish for small things like a sunny day or for their pets to return home safely. You can only make a wish once, so pretty much everyone had their turn. There is no sensation to talk about.”

“And what about that lottery woman?”

“My mom said that if her wish came true, that was because she really needed the money.”

“Alright...but with that logic, don’t you want to save your wish for an emergency?”

Hyunjin patted him on the back.

“What could be more important than your happiness? Sometimes, all we need is one good day.”

 

One good day. _24 hours_.

 

All the possibilities. _1,440 minutes_ . He could hold Minho's face between his hands and _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , steal a kiss? Would Minho be mad if he knew? Would it be wrong? What will happen after the day had passed? Will Minho remember any of it? Was Jisung crazy enough to risk it all?

 

_Yes he was._

 

He spent almost four years holding onto the possibility that Minho will get the hints and reciprocate his feelings. All those hours culminating, spent thinking of ' _what ifs_ ' and ' _coulds_ ', ' _woulds_ ' and ' _maybes_ '. Even now, he couldn’t muster the courage to grant himself his own escape. Perhaps after that day, he could finally move on.

Would knowing what he will never have after that make things worse? Or would it give Jisung the satisfaction and push to finally let go of the past? Maybe he never needed Minho as much as he thought he did, however false and out of reach that sounded now.

Should he push through his dread, risking failure and loss in exchange to be rendered free? Beyond the jaws of angst, what untold possibilities could a single wish for happiness open up?

Jisung was _dying_ to say that this was his ticket out of living in the past.

He didn’t even believe it will work, so then why wouldn't he try? _There was nothing to lose_.

Just this once. Never again. One day in his life and nevermore.

 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached into his pockets to throw some spare coins into the water, but found them empty.

“Of course…” He sighed, before the coldness of the stainless steel ring around his thumb gave him an idea.

He instantly pulled the ring off and glanced at it with a frown. It was one of his favorite rings.

But if there was even the smallest truth to the well, then Jisung would pour all of his jewelry into it, even if his wish would only last for 60 seconds, let alone 24 hours.

With that, he uncurled his fist over the void and let the ring fall into the seemingly endless tunnel, before hearing the rising echo of the jewelry splash into the water, and there was no point of return.

 

***  


He only realized that he wouldn't actually have a full day with Minho by the time he was at the bus stop back to the city.

After about three more hours of soul-searching and mulling by the well with Hyunjin, Jisung finally had garnered the strength to dirt off his jeans and speed-walk toward the nearest station at the sight of ominous clouds approaching. Hyunjin sneaked an umbrella into his hand before waving goodbye, anxiously watching Jisung disappear into the distance.

Cold October rain was pouring from the watery grey sky, striking the bumpy dirt-roads and pavement of the countryside. Jisung was ten minutes away from the shelter of the bus stop before his umbrella had irreversibly given up on him, the stretchers snapping in half against the blow of the thunderstorm.

Squinting his eyes, he could see the faded sign of the bus stop ahead, bites of rust eating the steel away, so he threw the crippled umbrella into a field of wild thistles at the end of their season, withering into dark buds, and ran hastily toward his destination. He nearly tripped over his undone shoelaces more than he dared to admit, and was disappointed to find no seats under the roof to catch his breath sitting on.

He crouched down with an exaggerated sigh, hiding his face between his folded arms, feeling a shudder climb up the ridges of his spine at the restless wind trying to push him off balance. And as if the world had conspired against him, the bus arrived only about an hour late, just on time for the rain to stop.

Jisung flung himself down onto one of the rear seats as far from the other passengers as possible, tapping with his finger on the other ones one the way there. He curled his arms around himself, trying to take up as little space as possible, moving just enough to wipe at the misty window with the back of his hand, finding a pale rainbow greet him from behind the clouds. In spite of himself, he blinked at the sight with a smile, a thousand words dancing on the tip of his tongue about the hope and fear dwelling inside him but nowhere to write.

Not counting the minutes that passed by while the bus waited at the red lights and bus stops, the ride back home took even longer than the way there, costing Jisung another five hours.

What was he even expecting? That Cupid had shot Minho in the ass with his arrow? That Minho would be a lovesick kitten now? He didn't actually believe it would work. Deities in the water was a myth. He was only so desperate that he wanted to make himself believe it, but by the end of the ride, he had sobered up enough to talk himself out of his expectations. His stomach was also growling like a grizzly bear, so he decided to stop by his favorite takeout place for some meat and tea, and whether the wishing well was a joke or not was the least of his worries.

He was more worried about never finding reconciliation with Minho, as it could easily, and rightfully, be the case that Minho just didn’t want to put up with his attitude anymore. He felt a familiar sense of visceral sorrow bubble up in his chest at the idea, causing him to leave more than half of the plate untouched at the sudden loss of his appetite. The manager glanced at him sympathetically, changing the sign on the door to “closed.”

Jisung stumbled home somehow, kicking at whatever rock dared to be in his way, his hopes and dreams dwindling with the flickering streetlights.

When he finally got back to his apartment late into the night, ready to kick back and open a bottle of soju to drown his demons in, he turned the lights on, shocked to find Minho curled up on the couch, half-asleep in one of Jisung's t-shirts.

He didn't think that Minho would want to be around him ever again, or at least not for a while, so to say that he was astonished to see Minho at his place was an understatement.

Minho looked small and vulnerable in his oversized shirt; strong and broad shoulders lost under the fabric and a hunched posture; innocent like he always did before he opened his mouth to speak or started dancing. He looked _precious_ , and the mere thought of Minho waiting for Jisung viciously clawed at the scarred wounds on his heart, tearing them open.

Lost in his thoughts, he was brought back to reality by Minho's sleepy voice.

"Jisung?" The other asked while sitting up.

Jisung waved at him awkwardly in response, willing a small smile onto his lips.

"Yeah...Sorry about the noise. I didn’t think you would be here."

Minho didn’t seem to care about what that meant, too busy with trying to rub the drowsiness out of his eyes as he made some room for Jisung on the sofa.

"Are you just going to stand there all day? Come here already!" He asked, patting the cushions next to him.

Jisung inhaled deeply, letting his bag slide off his shoulder while he took off his baseball cap to throw onto the dining table.

He sat next to Minho, making sure there was plenty of distance between them. However, Minho, of course, noticed that, and decided to conveniently place himself on Jisung's lap.

Jisung's heart seized for a moment, quailing at the sudden closeness and warmth.

"Can I help y-" He began, but Minho cut him off with a pout.

"I missed you so much." The other confessed, immediately putting Jisung’s world to a halt.  


Those words rung in his ear, replacing the apprehensive static noise pestering him minutes before, and it felt like the universe was in perfect alignment for _one good day._

"Were you waiting for me?" Jisung asked, wrapping his arms around Minho. .

Minho sighed contently at the gesture and laid his head against Jisung's chest with a nod.

"Yes. I was so lonely without you."

"Don't you have other friends to hang out with?" Jisung taunted, amazed at still being in one piece, let alone trying to be witty.

"I don't want to hang out with them...I want to be here with you." Minho admitted, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Jisung's neck for emphasis.

Jisung was suffocating badly, he was sure he would collapse on the spot had he been standing.

"What is up with you, man?" He asked, trying to laugh off the situation but ended up choking on the air like a fool instead.  
  


This couldn't be.

 

Minho was clinging onto him for dear life, making himself as tiny as possible to fit between Jisung's arms like a delicate bouquet.

"Nothing..." Minho mumbled into the other’s skin, making a violent shiver run through Jisung's entire body from head to toe. "Are you still mad at me?"

"Oh, baby..." Jisung sighed softly, using ‘baby’ as a joke to ease up the stiffened mood. "I was never mad at you...I was mad at myself."

Minho hummed in acknowledgement at the reply, the feeling of his lips on Jisung’s neck making Jisung shudder all over again.

No sarcastic eye-rolls. No attitude. Just a sweet hum. On any other day, Minho would be provoked by the pet name until he was swatting Jisung away with his slippers littered of ginger cat furr. Today, he even seemed _happy_ about it.

Jisung knew something _had to be_ up. Who was this boy in his arms? Because it surely wasn’t Minho.

"What were you doing yesterday?" Minho asked, lifting his head up to glance at Jisung..

That was when Jisung noticed how puffy and red Minho’s eyes looked, like on the day Jisung found a rejection letter from Minho’s dream company torn to pieces in the trash can without a word, their edges burnt but not all the way through, or on days Minho locked himself in the changing room of the studio so no one could see him cry, lips bitten bleeding and raw when he walked out, and on countless other stolen occasions Minho never told a soul of.

"I...Did you think I wouldn't come back, or what?" Jisung wondered, dodging the question.

"I was afraid you would send me away after we argued." Minho replied, adjusting himself on Jisung's lap. "Will you let me sleep here tonight? I know I can come off rude sometimes, but I didn’t mean to intimidate you or push you away. I love you."

Jisung's head was _spinning_. Spinning like a wonder wheel on crack.

This was all too unreal, too _beautiful_ , too much like anything Jisung could have ever wanted. Perhaps Minho meant that he loved him as a friend. They said that to each other sometimes.

 

But perhaps, it suddenly dawned on him, that maybe the wishing well wasn't a fraud.

 

An erratic spur of panic began to overtake him at the realization.

How many hours did he have left? About twelve? Eleven?

He couldn't believe he wasted all those scarce, precious hours today. There was no way he was going to sleep tonight, although his lids weighed a ton each.

"I would never send you away. You can always sleep here, my place is your place."

Minho smiled brightly at that, proceeding to rest his head back against Jisung's chest with a yawn.

"Hey,” Jisung said, nudging at Minho, “You are not going to snooze up on me, are you? Didn't you just wake up? The night is young!"

"That was only a very short nap...and it's already almost 1 o'clock...and I'm sleepy..." Minho murmured.

"But there is so much we have to do! So much to do!" Jisung wailed, overwhelmed with all the things he thought about doing if Minho were his boyfriend. Because now, Minho was as close to being his boyfriend as it will _ever_ get.

"We will have all day tomorrow."

 

A once in a lifetime opportunity fleeting away second by second.

 

 _'You don't understand.'_ Jisung thought on the verge of tears.

These were the only hours Minho could be _his_. These were the only hours Jisung had. There was no tomorrow. By the time they would wake up, and make a plan, the 24 hours would be over.

He wanted to drive Minho to the amusement park that Minho had been eyeing in the fashion magazine ads for months, with the roller coaster that would have Jisung throwing up from dizziness, but Minho would insist on making it up to Jisung by winning something for him at the arcade.

He wanted to take a romantic walk down the Han river with their arms hooked, hands hidden in each other's’ pocket, or feeding the swans, while it was cheesy and cliche, but he wanted it all the same, and finish the date off by buying Minho all the Valentine’s Day cards for every year he was afraid to.

He yearned to just smash his lips against Minho, and make out with him for _hours_ , until their lips were sore and Minho was reduced to a desperate, impatient mess, the way Minho wielded all that power to turn Jisung into jelly from the mere look of his eyes.

Most of all, he ached to be just like any other couple and forget about the magic, until he was awakened from his daydream by Minho's snoring, and realized that Minho had fallen asleep in his arms, shattering Jisung’s ambitions immediately.

Jisung’s enthusiasm visibly deflated as looked down at the boy, with coveted and bleary eyes, cradling him like the sky cradled the stars. He just didn’t have the heart to wake him up, so he let a few escaping tears roll down his cheeks before they were soaked up by the collar of his shirt, or dried gradually on their own as the minutes ticked by.

Those precious minutes. Time that will never be Jisung's again.

His bottom lip trembled with sadness and joy, because at the end of the dark tunnel he had traveled, there was light, and that light was the knowledge that in this moment, Minho _loved_ him like Jisung loved Minho. This simple moment was maybe better than anything Jisung could have ever planned; just having his lover snuggle up against him, and feel so safe and warm that he fell asleep within minutes, because Minho could only sleep well if he knew Jisung was home.

This was the kind of love where Minho waited for Jisung to come home with unconditional forgiveness in spite of all of Jisung’s flaws, and missed him so much that he could only wear Jisung’s shirt for comfort. A beautiful October night in the autumn - this had to be the very best kind of love.

The pivotal moments in Jisung's life were not going to the concert, and not even meeting Minho, but the fact that Minho stayed. Not all the years Jisung watched Minho dance, but the past few days he refused. Pivotal, not that Jisung made a wish, but the way home afterwards, alone and freezing on a village bus back from an impulse travel, having to face himself. And these minutes were no different - it was more important that Minho loved him than to check off a romantic bucket list.

Eventually, he was snapped out of his thoughts by the feeling of his legs going numb, so he scooped Minho up to carry him to their bed, the floor creaking under his cautious steps as the only reminder that all of this was real and not just Jisung’s mind playing tricks on him. The darkness of the hallway swallowed them up, sparse patches of the mourning moonlight leading the way to the bedroom.

He carefully laid the other down, making sure he wouldn't wake him up, but when he was about to pull his arms away so he could go and get changed, Minho hurriedly laced his arms around him in disagreement.

"Don't leave!" Minho pleaded with his eyes still closed.

Jisung couldn’t decide if he was sleep-talking or awake, but whatever it was, it made Jisung feel like a wobbly mess, little more than an unstable house of cards, falling apart at the gentlest blow of the wind.

"I won't, I just want to put on my PJs." Jisung assured the other, who then slowly eased his hold on Jisung, albeit reluctantly.

Jisung leaned away just enough to take his jeans and shirt off, changing into the nearest clean pair of clothes he could get his hands on. He then climbed under the soft covers beside Minho, and the other latched onto him right away, throwing one of his legs over Jisung’s hips.

Jisung’s heart was drumming like a marching band, in stark contrast to the silence around them, and the stillness of time.

It was half past 1 in the morning, pitch dark, and if someone told Jisung that the best night of his life would sound like that, he would have punched that person in the face with unkind regards.

He knew he would have maybe an hour more with _this_ Minho if they woke up early enough, so he prayed to those deities in the well that it was also included in the package.

 

And if not, at last, Jisung tried to come to terms with the recognition that the moment he was living now will never come by again. This was Minho in love. Minho in love _with Jisung_.

It didn’t hurt as much as Jisung thought it would, but more likely he was in denial that it happened, or in denial that it will end. Will Jisung ever be the same when everything goes back to normal? Was he a fool for thinking that he didn’t need Minho for the rest of his life?

There just weren’t enough hours remaining to think about that. For a while, whenever his eyelids stayed closed for a prolonged period of time, he would force them open to stay awake, savouring every last bit of Minho glued to him, but he eventually lost his train of thought and ended up falling asleep without noticing.

He dreamed of the well, of a union of formidable baritone voices laughing at him from within it, surrounded by daliesque clocks melting over the bald tree branches and muddy ground. The clocks went off one by one, ringing nonstop until the forest began to shake, and it seemed like the well will erupt, only to spit out Jisung’s ring, with the jewelry slowly rolling its way back to him, stopping as it met the tip of his boots.

When the sound of cheerful and lively chirping began to bleed into his dream somewhere outside the forest, unlike the other chaotic and terrifying noises, he snapped open in a frightful realization that the morning had truly arrived.

Just as he was about to spring up from the bed so he could figure out what was happening, he fell right back from the forgotten weight of Minho’s body still entangled with his, waking Minho up in the process.

Despite how unpleasant it must have been, Minho gracefully blinked himself awake and greeted Jisung in a calm, raspy voice, completely oblivious of Jisung’s panicking.

And as if his nightmare wasn’t enough already, Jisung now also had to pray that he won’t ruin the mood with a hard-on because of how beautiful Minho sounded. He didn’t even notice that his gaze was anxiously fixated on his crotch until he heard Minho break out into a knowing giggle.

Jisung smiled shyly, covering his eyes from embarrassment with his free arm.

When he felt calm enough to look back at Minho again, he found Minho towering above him, his irises blown as wide as they could go, focused on Jisung’s plump lips.

"Kiss me." Minho breathed onto said lips, eliciting a grin from his friend.

"You want me to kiss you, baby?" Jisung teased, flipping themselves over to climb on top of Minho, balancing himself on his arms on either side of the other's head.

Minho nodded eagerly.

"You are the cutest, you know." Jisung cooed at the reaction, brushing his nose against Minho's.

"I know." Minho replied without hesitation, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

So this was it.

His first and last kiss. He better make it count.

Will Minho remember any of it? Will he be angry? Will he ever forgive Jisung?

 _"Please."_  Minho begged quietly, unaware that he had spoken it out loud, just a chant escaping the confines of his mind to nestle itself into Jisung’s ears.

Jisung wasn’t even sure how to properly kiss someone, but he dived in anyway, connecting their lips for that long awaited first, last kiss. He couldn’t help but let out a moan at how silky Minho's lips felt, and how much better reality was than anything he could imagine; Minho's lips softer than anything he could ever think of.

He melted against Minho, into the other’s feather-light sighs and sweet cotton candy taste. He must have been binging on candy the day before while he waited for Jisung to come home.

He could feel Minho's hands sneak up from his hips to his back, dragging his nails up along the way on Jisung's skin. Jisung smiled at that, letting Minho pull him impossibly closer.

He had no air left in his lungs - he didn’t know how to pace a kiss, he didn’t even know what he was running on anymore. Probably adrenaline and _magic_. He knew he probably had only a few minutes left to enjoy before it would all come to an unknown end, before Minho would realize what he was doing and attempt to kill him. So Jisung held onto this moment and stretched it out as long as he could, taking the kiss as slow and deep as he managed despite the energy that was bursting through his veins.

When they parted a short while later with only a strand of saliva connecting their lips, Jisung felt Minho wrap his legs around him and pull him down _again_ , leaving no choice for Jisung but to claim those lips for a second time, and this once, unfettered.

He grabbed one of Minho's exposed thighs, sliding the fabric further up, gripping him with such strength as to have him _whimper_ into the kiss with desire, ending it abruptly.

Minho’s cheeks were furiously blushing at the sounds leaving his parted mouth, almost deceiving from the lust clouding his eyes, a true telltale of his lack of shame. They parted just enough for Jisung to catch that look, and feel it burn a million bullet-sized holes through his chest.

He crashed their lips again in a drive more feverish and hasty than he knew was possible of himself, digging the tips of his fingers greedily into any part of Minto he could reach, while the other boy was tempting him with sounds each cruder than the last, indulging in one another’s waning self-restraints.

Kissing Minho came to him as naturally as composing music and writing songs, like when he first picked up a pen to jot a stray thought down, having the blue ink saturate the lined paper, or mixed three different beats together to create a melody that had been stuck in his head ever since. It broke his heart to know that he will have to live the rest of his life pursuing only the remaining two of these passions. Even a life without music wouldn't be as bad as a life without kissing Minho.

He didn’t want to look at his phone on the nightstand and know how many minutes he had left. He didn’t want to part, but the sky was starting to clear up, and he could almost feel the warmth of the sun tickling his skin, letting him know that the morning had truly come for them.

Jisung ended the kiss by resting his forehead against Minho's, trying to soak in as much of this moment as he could, since eternity was a terribly long time to sprint through without remembering these hours.

He could hear the wind blow by the unsealed edges of the window, making the blinds softly bump against the wall every now and then. The room suddenly felt very cold, and Minho's arms and legs started to slowly slip away.

Jisung couldn’t hold back a choked sob as he placed a kiss on Minho's forehead, purging his soul of all the things he was afraid to say before, but never could, until now - once and for all,

"I love you so much. Minho, I loved you ever since I first saw you in that sweaty and violent pit. I loved you for so long, I--"

He would have babbled on for another minute if not for Minho urgently interrupting him,

"I love you, too, Jisung but hold on. Why are you crying?"

"There's just no more time!" Jisung rambled, his voice cracking as he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

His arms were shaking from fear, the thumb that used to bear the ring he had thrown into the well now pushing down on the homescreen button of the device.  
  


 

"What the fuck?" He exclaimed at the sight.

 

The clock was showing 11:03AM.

 

"What is going on with you?" Minho complained, grimacing at Jisung's odd behavior.

"Hold up!” Jisung cried, the phone slipping out of his hand as he began to count on his fingers. “I left Hyunjin's place in the morning, around 11 or 12 o'clock. I made the wish around 9AM. The -"

"What wish?"

"- bus ride took forever, but I got to Soul Cup Cafe at closing time, so around 10PM. I got home at almost 1AM. That is...that has to be more than 24 hours!" Jisung exclaimed, smacking himself on the forehead with his palms.

"Jisung…” Minho asked carefully. “Are you okay? Why does any of this matter?"

"Because...because...the wish?" Jisung whispered, looking at Minho dumbfounded, as if Minho would know the answer.

Minho was still confused beyond hope. However, he couldn’t help but laugh at Jisung's _miserable_ expression.

"Do you have somewhere to go to?"

"No, Minho! Damn it, _you_ have somewhere to go to."

"Someone apparently forgot to pass me that memo."

"But I don't get it...You said that you _loved_ me." Jisung sniffed, to which Minho let out a jaded sigh and clasped Jisung's chubby cheeks between his hands.

"Yeah, and I still do. Am I not supposed to?"

"Exactly! That’s right! So how did this happen?"

Minho sheepishly looked away at that.

"I have a confession to make..." He began, and Jisung's ears perked up. "After we had that argument and you left...I kept wondering what was going on with you. So I looked around your place. I know you asked me not to really go into your other room when you gave me the keys to this place...but I did. And I saw your notes and stuff. I saw the songs you wrote about me."

Jisung's entire face turned hot pink from the incoming news. There were quite some _stuff_ in his notebooks.

"I thought you didn't have those feelings for me, so I never told you that I felt the same."

"No you don't!" Jisung sputtered in denial. "You always pushed me away when we were really close, and didn't let me hug you when you began sleeping in my bed, and -"

"I was afraid you would reject me.” Minho interrupted, “I thought that you were joking about those things. You can be such a clown sometimes...I was afraid to lose my best friend."

"My God...so _you_ , and not some _magical you_ , actually _like_ when I call you baby? That was all you yesterday? The kiss this morning? Everything?" Jisung uttered with his jaw hitting the floor, looking at his fingers where the ring used to be.

"I still don't know what you are talking about?"

"Right," Jisung realized, clueless as to how he should go about explaining himself. "You are going to think I'm an idiot."

"But I already think you are an idiot." Minho teased, tenderly wiping away the last few strands of tears on Jisung's, as per moment, _burning_ face.

"Have you ever heard of wishing wells?" He began solemnly.

Minho quirked his eyebrow, trying his hardest to hold back a laugh at the apparent seriousness of the matter.

"Did you make a wish?"

"Hell yeah I did. Hyunjin said that people in that village believe that the well will bring your wishes come true for a day."

"Ah," Minho nodded in understanding, "So that was the hassle about the hours."

Jisung bowed, crimson up to the tip of his ears in embarrassment.

Minho took pity on him, pulling Jisung against his chest.

"And you wished that...?"

"That you would love me back. Just for a day. I couldn't be around you the same anymore. I felt so frustrated and tired. I just wanted to move on, but then you noticed and got mad."

"Of course I got mad! _I love you!_ I was scared that I did something wrong. I wish you would have just told me how you felt."

"Look who's talking, Mr. _“You-Could-Have-Just-Told-Me.”_ You could have done the same!"  Jisung said with a grin, pushing Minho down into the position they were minutes ago, rewinding the day back.

"What are you going to do to me now?" Minho asked, a devilish smile playing on his lips, veiling all the anticipation underneath. "You had some very _creative_ ideas in your little book."

"I'll start by shutting up that loud mouth of yours with another kiss."

"Is that a promise?" Minho urged, landing a smack on Jisung's butt.

Jisung bit down on his bottom lip to hold back a moan.

"Be careful what you _wish_ for because you might get it." Jisung whispered suggestively into Minho's ear, making him shiver in excitement.   
  


 

Jisung had no idea if the wishing well had anything to do with the outcome of the events. Perhaps it was all meant to be or it was all just dumb luck for the second time in his life.

 

Either way, Jisung had all the time in the world left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think it was magic? Was Jisung just lucky? Was it fate? Did Hyunjin help in somehow? What would you wish for if you knew it would come true for 24 hours?


End file.
